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Monday, 3 June 2013


I lost my middle finger in my dreams last night. It just snapped right off, without even bleeding much. I'm no longer sure whether it was the left or right hand, but I know it was the middle finger. It's a little confusing, it started with Mgrt being here and me messing around with lipsticks. I ended up dropping one in the bin, and then another. One of them I was willing to rescue, not so the other, and she was somehow responsible for how I dropped them or how they got dirty in the bin. I'm no longer sure. I was trying to mend the lighter one of the two, a pale peach one, and I turned it so it was all out. While I did something else it became warm and softened. Next thing I know, I had lost the middle finger on one of my hands. I know I just snapped it off, quite suddenly, and that it was painful but amazingly less so than you'd imagine. It was also not bloody at all. I just remember worrying about losing the finger, about it getting too warm and rotting or cold. I worried about how I was going to stick it back on, whether it was possible or not because the end was so jagged. I realised I could hold it in place and a tremor and electric shock would go through my hand, making all of my fingers twitch. The broken one still reacted and I hoped that if I was able to hold it in place long enough it would somehow heal. I worried, however, because the twitching made the finger move, and it was hard to adjust and keep in place. The feeling of a half dead finger and the desperation of hoping not to lose it was a horrible one to wake up to. No match to aunt A's insufferable mood, though. No excuse, even if her friend has cancer. She has no right to be such a pain. 

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